Destino
by eshajouri
Summary: Kenny McCormick discovers the relativity of time, through small gestures, silent looks and whispered secrets of a boy.


**A/N:** Jesus. Fucking. Christ. If you _knew_ what I had to do to upload this. Anyway! This fic is to Alba, who's the sweetest person ever. Thank you so much for putting up with me, darling! I really, really enjoy talking to you. Happy (seriously late) birthday! I hope you enjoy this! And thank you so much for being so awesome! I'm absolutely sorry for any mistakes or typos. I've been up all night writing this and I _have _to sleep right now, haha!

I really recommend you to read this listening to _Gymnopédie_, by Erik Satie. The title comes from Salvador Dalí and Walt Disney's animation, which is really inspiring.

**disclaimer:** I don't own South Park, Dalí, Disney, Satie nor their awesomeness.

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**Destino**

_"What you see here are just symbols. Surrealism is like a new language. Every object_  
_means something other than what it naturally appears to be. This watch, for instance — it symbolizes_  
_the relativity of time. Depending on the circumstances, in love for instance, one minute __of waiting may seem like a thousand years…  
or an hour may pass as quickly as if it were a __few seconds.  
The time of human being is different than mechanical time. It's flexible and __viscous, like the time in dreams."  
_(Salvador Dalí)

Time is a funny thing, stopping right here and there, and passing by on a rush sometimes.

It first happened when they met – when they first noticed each other.

Kenny has always been a quiet, yet smart kid. He has always been the observer, the one that paid attention to his surroundings; however, that one day in kindergarten, he lost his red scarf. The one he always wore, all beat up and old, but comfortable and warm. His mom cared enough to wash it at least once a week so it wouldn't get smelly; it always had a nice motherly scent, which was what made Kenny feel protected from the cold and average fears of a child. When the bell rang, he looked for it everywhere, but never found it. It was one of the few times he felt secure enough to take it off, yet the world – probably just a mean kid, probably Cartman, who took it home – had to mock his false sense of shelter. Kenny cried.

Kenny stood alone on the sidewalk, where other kids waited for their parents to pick them up. He usually walked home by himself – he has always been independent, too – but just stood there, as though waiting for something to happen. Maybe the kid that had taken his scarf would realize their mistake and give it back to its righteous owner. So he waited. He waited as the small crowd of children slowly shrunk and no one came to return his scarf. He waited until there was only one kid left, standing a respectable distance away from him. He dared to look at the other child, who had blond hair, lighter than his own, and wore a turquoise jacket and a purple scarf. Kenny cried; he was a child who had suffered his first loss.

The kid looked at him; pity and curiosity hovered over his eyes as he approached Kenny.

"Don't cry," he said in a soft tone. "Here," he smiled, unwrapping half of his purple scarf and enveloping Kenny's neck with the soft fabric – much softer and more expensive-looking than his beat up, old red scarf – that had the kid's warmth lingering on it.

Time, being the funny thing it is, stopped for a moment in Kenny's sense. The boy took Kenny's gloved hand on his own and they waited together. Kenny never said a single word; he just felt, instead. Felt the wind gentler, the cloth covering their hands rubbing in the slightest of ways as their muscles softly moved, the sky less gray and the world a little less scary. He had the vague impression of a déjà vu; had he seen this kid before, waiting for his mother to come? Had he looked at this kind-eyed boy before? Had he noticed the faintly curved lips, a small smile on his mouth before? He never found the answers to the strange feeling in the back of his mind in that everlasting moment of odd tranquility and silence they shared. He only knows their peace was shattered when the boy's mother finally arrived. The boy hesitantly unwrapped the scarf from Kenny's neck and, with an apologetic look, left him behind in the cold, before his mother even laid her bored eyes on them.

Kenny didn't talk much to that boy after the event, though. He was busy doing naughty things with his friends, messing around with them with their childish minds to even thank the boy.

Kenny thinks back sometimes, and wants to apologize, though his pride doesn't let him. He wants to say he's sorry about letting that day the boy was so kind and sympathetic slip to some corner of his memory, but his mouth can't make the words. He first thought about how mean it was of him when time completely froze for the second time.

His existence already didn't make sense at the time. He had died and come back countless times and made his search for the reason of his deaths and resurrections his priority at that point, but that boy seemed to be empathetic and kind even then, even when Kenny was selfish and egocentric.

Hindsight had just left Cartman's basement, making Professor Chaos Mysterion's only company. He has to admit he had forgotten about his arch-enemy being there, after putting up a show even though he had the pipe of a Baretta 92 pressed to his head, the tenuous thread between his brains being painfully blown out or not in the hands of a drunk, withdrawn superhero. Professor Chaos was locked in that makeshift cell he could have broken whenever he pleased, but kept playing their stupid game, abiding by their rules, and watched Mysterion's fury being exhaled and inhaled again in a rapid pace, his nostrils and pupils dilated by the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

"A-are you alright?" he asked in a scared tone by all the aggression Mysterion's attitude still held. His voice was much more insecure than it used to be, but Kenny never noticed it. Years of mistreatment does that to someone, Kenny guesses.

Mysterion shot him a glare and the boy flinched. Mysterion walked to the cell and closed his hands around the bars and kept silent. Mysterion lowered his head and let a sigh escape his mouth and forgot to keep his voice disguised as he whispered, "Why does no one remember?"

Professor Chaos – _no_, he wasn't playing pretend anymore. The boy, the one who had gentle eyes, smiled warmly and put his hands over Mysterion's. Their costumes' gloves contrasted in color and material, but somehow fit; that is what Kenny felt. The Earth forgot to keep on turning, it seemed, and they were back to their own little world, where they said nothing, but Kenny could feel how comforting the kid's silence was. Anger and frustration were dying out inside him, slowly being replaced by sadness and an empty space in his chest.

"Everything is gon' be alright, you'll see," the boy guaranteed, and Kenny almost believed him.

He's not sure when time got back to normal, but the boy held his hand until tears were shed.

And then, time lapses became larger and larger between their misadventures, until they grew into relatively ordinary preteens. They all have scars their abnormal childhood craved into them, but they mostly ignore those. They sorted things out, tried to forget what they couldn't change and just followed as life went on. They hang out together, play some video games and do boring things to make it through the days. Kenny now has the time to notice the little things, though.

This boy always walks behind them with slightly downcast eyes; a shy pace, a distracted look hovering over his face. It intrigued Kenny once he began noticing it. While they stroll around the sidewalk, Kenny steals glances at those eyes that bear a fleeting sense of loneliness; they look up at him and the boy smiles. _Thank you for noticing me_, his faintly curved lips seem to confess. Kenny smiles back, sometimes, under the thick cloth of his hood, though he isn't sure whether the other party is aware of it or not. He thinks – hopes – he is. And thinks – hopes – the boy is the responsive type of person, and probably knows when Kenny smiles. It's not hard to acknowledge, though most people don't. They don't care enough to, Kenny guesses. But not that boy; Kenny thinks he is different; he _became _different. He just feels a little off. A little fragile.

Kenny also notices, now, how he started longing for these instants where the boy smiles and he smiles back, at some point. He yearns all the day to encounter a chance to look back and meet those lonely eyes; just a moment that takes eternity to come, but last a fraction of a second. It's frustrating, Kenny thinks, but somehow worth it. A small, discreet part of Kenny feels safe and content when those lips smile and thank him. He sees himself in that solitude; standing all alone among friendly faces.

The kid speaks in the quietest voice sometimes. He doesn't do that often; Kenny observed he only does that when he is actually speaking his mind, which is quite rare; he sounds afraid of something. When he does, however, it makes a part of Kenny hurt a little. It's as though he doesn't want to be heard – no, he wants to be heard, but not by anyone. He wants an understanding ear that never comes, Kenny guesses.

Kenny guesses a lot of things about this boy. He doesn't know much, although they had always been together; he always seemed to disappear behind Cartman's obnoxiously loud voice and Kyle's bad temper. Sometimes even Stan's whining overgrew him. Kenny feels the both of them have always quietly blended into the background, standing right beside where the commotion took place, eventually getting caught in the mess. They only time he can remember one of them starting the disturbance in their group was the cheesing thing, and it was himself who got wrapped up in such an embarrassing addiction. As pathetic as the episode was, the boy was by his side, cleaning his vomit and rubbing his back with tolerance of a saint.

They are at Stan's, have some booze – Mr. Marsh's cheap liquor and beer, Kenny knows – and are excited about drinking for the first time. Although Stan got over his pseudo-alcoholic phase, he convinced Cartman and Kyle it wouldn't hurt to try it once. Curiosity got the best out of the duo, and where they go, Kenny and the boy follow.

Mr. and Mrs. Marsh are out to dinner and Shelley got herself a boyfriend to keep her busy. So it doesn't take long to the three of them to get all giggly and silly and loud, rolling around on the floor of Stan's bedroom. Kenny honestly doesn't feel comfortable drinking; the mere smell of alcohol makes the recent memories of his father drunkenly stumbling into his so-called home and yelling with all his lungs allow him, so Kenny just pretends to be enjoying his everlasting drink as he allows himself to laugh at his drunk friends.

He also allows himself to look at little longer at the boy, whose lonely eyes never left the untouched funny-colored liquid in his cup. He seemed distracted, as though he had put up a wall between himself and the other four kids.

"They say it's in the genes," his lips suddenly move, and Kenny barely caught the whispered words among their friends' laughter and The Offspring playing in the background.

Kenny lets out a sigh he never knew he was holding, and summons the courage to move a little closer to the boy, breaking the imaginary limit between them, discreetly as everything he did, transgressing the distance that separated them.

"What is?" he asks in an equally quiet voice. The ever lonesome eyes move to him, a little surprised, and he is quick to add. "In the genes. What's in them?"

"The gay," he promptly answers and Kenny has to try to hide the astonishment he initially feels. The answer was quick and caught him off guard, but stormy emotions never had the chance to properly manifest themselves inside Kenny as the boy has a really small smile that silently said, _thank you for asking_.

Kenny doesn't know what to say, so he keeps quiet. He is afraid he might mess up this unique opportunity he has to look as much as he wants to this boy's frail figure, so he begins noticing how time slows down again. He blocks out the noise his friends are making, the laughter and beer cans hitting one another, and concentrates on the boy's movements on the corner of his eye.

After that night, they don't talk about it, replaying the episode when the boy was nice to Kenny and they never spoke to each other. Their interactions seem to be mute vows Kenny prefers to keep to himself, not as if he is ashamed or embarrassed about them, but more like he feels they are far too precious to simply let others know.

They, however, exchange secrets in whispers and looks when no one cares enough to check. They leave notes in each other's lockers, notebooks, quiet murmurs of their fears and hopes, disguised in shallow words only the two of them can read. They never actually talk to each other, but they say a lot in these moments that seem endless while they read the other's heaves. Kenny notices how the boy's short messages make everything around him quiet, as though his mind creates a barrier around him, ignoring all the rest of the world; the only thing that matters is what is written on the sloppily cropped piece of paper, the childish handwriting telling him something that sounds meaningless, but hides a whole world of wonders Kenny wants to explore.

They slowly move from hushed oaths to less urgent things; music, for instance. Everything was different about this boy. He surprises Kenny with melodies he had never imagined before. They go, from that point on, to their daily lives. Small pieces of paper aren't enough anymore, and they are compelled to actually voice their thoughts to each other. The coercion, however, only feels natural as they meet and Kenny feels their conversations are never long enough. Time is in a rush when Kenny is accompanied by that boy, it seems.

He _is_ fragile, Kenny knows now. The way the boy speaks isn't so soft anymore; it's a little more excited, a little stronger, but still delicate. He is tender in everything he does, determined yet weak. Kenny can't put it in words – the boy is unbelievably confusing to him, mixing all these intangible things in his actions and words. They have fun just by talking, speaking their minds in ways they were never allowed to. They can't hide the obvious bound they created and no one seems to mind; they were invisible before, they can still be invisible now. The only difference is that they have one another.

_I have to protect him_, Kenny tells himself, staring at the ceiling in his room. He likes to reflect and replay the words his friend says. They are thoughtful and emotional, and he fears someone might hurt that boy, who is so considerate and compassionate. Kenny can't let anyone damage that kind of innocence; he doesn't want to lose the only person that he can communicate with, who is as hurt and quiet as he is. A selfish thought from his part, indeed, but he can't help it. He has to protect that exceptional being, as the boy can't himself. He will protect him until someone who is worth his existence shows up.

They don't go to many places, as Kenny can't afford to go to restaurants and places where their friends usually hang out. They mostly sit on the sidewalk or Kenny's messy room and talk. They spend the day talking and listening and sharing, and never run out of things to say. Things they saw, things they thought, thinks they imagined, things they want – there is still a lot to be talked about when the orange-colored sunbeams strike Kenny's curtains, indicating night is coming and the boy has to leave with the sun. It is from that point on that the clock decides to move slower and make the night longer, except for weekend nights, when they can confabulate and make things up until sunrise.

People come and go, but they stay. High school strikes them with new friends, but they don't spend less time together. Time is distorted, classes are longer, spring breaks are shorter, and their moments never seem fulfilling to Kenny. He feels restless when he can't be with that boy; he bottles things up, even writes down interesting things so he won't forget to tell him what happened in his absence. The boy does the same, too. New people keep coming, but they can never replace Kenny or that fragile boy, who keeps getting stronger and more courageous.

_I'll protect him until someone shows up_, Kenny is thinking to himself, while he listens to what his companion has to say. He says all the right words, everything Kenny needs to hear, everything Kenny needs to understand, he can sum it all up in few sentences that are never enough. He could listen to his comforting voice for as long as it is necessary and a little more, he thinks.

_Until someone shows up_, he thinks in the back of his mind, while they sit comfortably in silence.

_Until someone shows up_, his conscience whispers as he slowly leans in.

_Someone worth it_, that little voice in his head grows quieter as the boy's eyelids shut close.

_Someone_, it's finally silenced as their lips brush together, warm and nervous, and the boy's hands shake in the most discreet way. His own do that, too, he notices somehow.

The distance between them is recreated and they gaze into each other's eyes.

Those eyes aren't lonely anymore, Kenny notices. Neither are his own, he guesses. They are affectionate, like his own are. His cheeks are slightly tinged with pink, like his own are. His lips have this small, uncontained smile, like his own do.

_I hope they don't show up_, he thinks, and his hand is on the boy's. Shyly, but time feels perpetual. The moment is frozen and there is this funny feeling in his stomach.

He is happy.

He isn't lonely.


End file.
